It's okay, I promise
by crack-the-glowsticks
Summary: when we're young, everything seems okay, but when we grow up, we realize it really probably wasn't.


_First of all, I apologise if you were reading my 'Change in the Waves' fic, I've had a two month bout of writers block and a lot of personal stuff as well. Anyways, I got the idea for this fic in Paranormal Activity 3, shh don't ask, my mind works funny. It might not seem like it has direction, but hopefully it does, just yeah, wait it out. I'm sceptical about it though, so reviews are nice and helpful in that respect. And yeah, enjoy!_

_**~Soccer Balls and Silence.~**_

"MAAAAA! MAAAAAAA! CAN BLAINE AND I HAS MUFFINS NOW, PLEEAAAASSSEEEE"

"Shh, shh, Kurt, lower your voice, sweetheart. Your mother's not here, remember?"

"Oh yeah, that's right." A look of sadness crosses the angelic face of the going on six boy, eyes became glossed over as they always always were, just waiting to spill, except they never did. "But can we still has muffins please da?"

Burt chuckled, probably inappropriate given the situation, but he was trying his best. "Sure son. What'll it be?"

Burt knew the answer before it left his son's lips.

"Blueberry for me and double chocolate chip for Blaine."

"And… What's the magic word?"

"Please da, can Blaine and I have our muffins."

"Sure kiddo. Why don't the two of you go play outside whilst I get it ready for you, you want some milk too boys?"

Kurt glanced sideways before nodding his head, "Yes please!"

"Okay, now go play."

The sound of socked footsteps on cold summer frosted kitchen tiles filled Burt Hummel's ears for what seemed like the thousandth time this week. He wasn't really sure if he liked this routine. This waiting on Kurt's pretentious friend and of never being able to talk to his son about the things he knew they needed to talk about. But he just wanted his son to be happy. Five was far too young to be sad, Burt knew that best of all. And Blaine made his son happy, so it was… okay, wasn't it?

Sometimes he wondered about his parenting skills. They'd already been so tested before his son had reached six, what the hell was he going to do when his son reached puberty and needed talks on being safe and what not to do, and God, that was not a pleasant thought to have when his son was kicking the black and white ball across the Lima summered lawn outside, and there were muffins being nuked and milk in the jug.

Burt watched the ball move back and forth across the slowly-turning-yellow grass. He watched the little feet of his son with the skinny legs kick it to a space, run to that space, only to kick it back to that space again. He could hear the "hurry up Blaine" followed by a rather good kick that impressed the infamous Burt Hummel. But Blaine is not there, he's nowhere to be seen, but Kurt doesn't really look phased. If Burt could read Kurt's mind and Kurt could read his, and Kurt knew what Burt was thinking at that moment he'd answer with "he's coming back dad, he's just gone to check something". But Burt couldn't read Kurt's mind, and Kurt couldn't read Burt's. So Burt didn't know what Kurt was thinking as he pushed the ball back and forth, back and forth across the ground. Or why the pace quickened so suddenly and forceful kicks were given off, hard enough to probably shatter glass if given the chance.

Note to self, he reminded himself. If Kurt's going to be like that, keep Kurt away from Hannah's glasses.

The shrill dial of the phone awoke him from the stupid thinking he always seemed to get himself into. He hated that dial tone, he kept meaning to change it, but changing it just didn't really feel right.

"H'llo?" Burt had never had good pone etiquette, Hannah had often picked on him about that. His inability to ask, 'who is this' or even the simple 'how are you' was something she did not ever let him go a day without living down. Yet, it's funny how the system never changed, still as gruff and blunt as always.

"Would that be my favourite brother in the whole world, negating his phone etiquette, again?"

The chirpy voice of his one year older sister broke the walls he'd felt building up all week.

"Unless you have another brother I never knew about, then yes. How are you Anne?"

"I'm good, I'm good. How are you?"

"I – I'm…"

But Anne interjected him, as she always did.

"Now, don't give me any bullshit. I want to know how you're going, how you're really truly going. If you're not going to insist on councillors or GP visits, then at least tell _me_ what's going on."

"I – I'm I don't know."

"That's good, what don't you know?"

"Anything. Kurt. What the hell am I supposed to do Anne?"

"You need to tell me what you mean."

Oh yeah, Anne can't read his mind either. God it would be so much easier if

"you could just read my mind." Burt's thoughts leave his head and come out of his mouth, following the line through so Anne knew what he was thinking, about wishing that she could know what he was thinking. And it sounded so much less complicated in Burt's head.

"What?" She sounded confused. Hell, Burt confused himself most days, so she probably had a right.

"Nothing, just thinking."

"Okay."

They were met with a brief silence, which was becoming a common occurrence now days, really. Burt forgot that silence was bad sometimes.

"You gonna tell me what's been going on with Kurt that's bothering you, apart from the obvious, I mean."

Burt took a deep breath, and contemplated on how to start this conversation in the right way, and leave out the part that he himself wanted to forget.

"Well, after… yeah, Kurt got himself a new friend."

They didn't acknowledge what the pause meant, they didn't need to.

"That's a good thing though, right?"

"See," he began, combing his fingers through his practically non-existent hair. "I don't know. I mean, he has no other friends but this one boy, Blaine. Kurt gets teased, you know? And bullied, and they make fun of his legs. And because they're only young, they're a little indifferent to his… circumstances or whatever you want to call it. I mean, the parents of these kids that give him crap probably need to sit down and have a chat, but they don't. And his teacher's say nothing. Kurt just sits at the back of the classroom with Blaine. When he comes home it's 'can we have muffins please da? We're going to play soccer now'. It's his breakfast has changed because he'll only eat what Blaine eats, and he'll refuse everything else."

"Is this Blaine a nice kid, though?"

"I guess so, I mean, I know he makes Kurt happy and God knows Kurt needs that since Hannah, but, I don't know. I just don't really recognise my son anymore."

"Burt," she pauses, "remember that he's five. And he's confused, and probably lost."

"I know, I know, I don't even know what's going on in his mind because he'll never talk to me about it. I'm just… I'm just really scared that this isn't going to stop."

"That what's not going to stop?" Burt can begin to hear confusion ringing in her voice, damnit, avoid! AVOID! His brain was shouting.

"Just, I don't know, the bullying and the him being shut off from everyone but Blaine. The him not making decisions anymore. Anne, he's five. Isn't that when if something huge like this happens, it stays with you forever? What if it never does? What if the scarring's too great and the pain's too much? What if he becomes depressed at the age of eight and suicidal at eleven? What if Blaine and him never stop being friends and he's doomed to a life of being an outsider?"

By this stage, Burt's probably about to have a heart attack, the rate at which he's getting worked up.

"Calm, Burt, calm. But why…" her voice was still riddled with confusion, "does being friends with Blaine, doom him to a life of being an outsider?"

If only she knew.

"I don't know, it's just – it's just not healthy."

Burt could practically hear the cogs working away in his sister's brain, Her trying to piece together the puzzles and Burt hoping that she would. Because he didn't really want to admit it to himself, and he thought that maybe someone like Anne could help him."

"Burt…"

Thud.

"I know you're scared for Kurt, I get that. But you have to remember, he's five. He's suffered a massive emotional trauma and you don't know if he'll ever recover from that, okay. I'm sorry that I'm not there to calm you down and to talk to Kurt. But maybe you should try and sit him down and talk to him."

Thud.

Burt struggled to choke back a sob.

Thud.

"Look, I know it's probably going to be very hard, considering that you're you and that you're you. But you need to do it. You need to talk to him about what happened with Hannah, and how that made him feel, and how he feels right now, and how Blaine's been helping him. You need to talk about his friendship with Blaine and why Kurt does what Blaine does. Then you need to take him to the beach, or to Disney World, or even down here to my place, to give him a break. To give yourself a break. Because God knows the two of you deserve it."

Thud.

"Why are you always so convincing and good at this sort of stuff?"

"Because I am. Now, you need to remember that kids deal with pain and grief differently than adults, and even differently from other kids. But they all go through something. Some just shut down, some just act like nothing ever happened. Kurt's just the type who's made something good out of an impossibly sad situation, and you can't be scared for him for that. Well maybe you can, but just not yet, okay? His mother, your wife's only been gone for nothing short of a month, Burt. Just, keep that in mind before you jump to any more conclusions or whatever, okay?"

Thud.

"You think I'm going to forget about Hannah?"

"No! That's not what I meant at all, Burt, and you know that."

Did he?

Thud.

"Just…" he waited for his sister to continue, "let this thing ride it's wave. Whatever it is that you're scared or whatever by. But Kurt's in a dark place, Blaine's, from what you've told me, at least making it a little brighter, isn't he?"

Thud.

"I suppose so." But he didn't really. Because he knew that this was probably normal for kids, especially for boys with chicken legs who've lost their mother at the hands of some drug induced sleep deprived blood thirsty lunatic, but that just makes it a hundred times more terrifying.

"And you need to give yourself a night off from your brain. At this rate, you'll be dead by thirty-five of an aneurism, and I don't know how Kurt would cope having to live with me down here in California, probably not his cup of tea."

Burt chuckled, "It probably would be, actually. He likes tea parties and dress ups nearly as much as he does soccer."

Thud.

But then Burt freezes.

"Does Kurt play dress ups and tea parties with Blaine too?"

"Yes." Burt chants. "Always with Blaine."

Thud.

Anne could sense that something was wrong. Maybe they couldn't quite read each other's minds, but they were definitely on the path to some sort of telepathy.

"Burt – Burt what's wrong?"

Thud.

"Nothing, I just –"

But instead of the finishing of a sentence, Anne is answered by a scream. A scream that didn't fit Burt's voice. Nor did it fit Kurt's voice either, really.

"Burt, is – is everything okay?"

But Anne was met with nothing but the beeping tune to tell her that she had been hung up on.

But Burt was too busy pushing, no, shoving the glass door open to get outside to find the source and reason for that scream that sent shivers down his spine and a billion bad thoughts coursing through his mind.

"KURT!"

There was no answer, where had Kurt gone too? He'd been here, this very here, noting but a minute ago. The grass was still burnt with the fresh reminder of five year old socked footprints kicking soccer balls to themselves.

"KURT!"

"Here I am, dad." And there he is, appearing out of, well, nowhere really. God, how did he do that?

Burt put his hands forcefully, but not too much so, on his son's spindly shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"Kurt, what – what happened? Why'd you scream so bad?"

"it's okay daddy, I promise, it's okay."

That wasn't really answering the question.

"Kurt, what happened?"

"It's okay daddy, I promise, it's okay."

"Kurt, you don't just scream like that for no reason. I need you to tell me what happened, and why you screamed in a way that could rival a horror movie reaction."

"It's okay daddy –"

"Enough! Kurt, tell me what happened, or I'll kick Blaine out of the house."

Silence.

"Blaine says you wouldn't really do that. You wouldn't want to anyways, daddy, that would be very very bad."

When had Kurt's eyes become that colour? They were rock-pool blue just before. The shade had changed ten-fold, and when he looked into the colours shrugged by the impossibly long lashes that reminded him of Hannah, he was met with night-sky navy, except without the stars to remind him that day was coming soon.

"Okay, if you tell me what happened, I won't kick Blaine out."

"That seems fair enough, right Blaine?"

The grass moves as Kurt and Burt nod their heads at the same time.

"It's okay daddy, I just… I accidentally hurt Blaine, and he didn't like that. He knows I didn't mean to hurt him, but I was naughty, and he had to make sure I knew that I was a bad Kurt for hurting my best friend Blaine."

"Wait, so Kurt did Blaine hurt you?"

A flash of terror crosses Kurt's face. And it's obvious in the way his left nostril flares and the tip of his right ear become flushed and his mouth briefly twists. But then, it's gone. His face re-composed into his best five year old Kurt face.

Burt waits for Kurt to answer. He thinks it's probably wise not to push this question.

The grass moves under their feet and the wind picks up, making the trees arch their backs and the leaves to spread their wings.

But still, Kurt doesn't answer. His face is screwed up in concentration, and if he didn't know his son better, he couldn't possibly be talking to himself.

"Blaine's hurt, da." Kurt begins with a tone of confidence and roboticness. "He's hurt and he says tha me and him have to talk for a little bit about him being hurt, and my screams. It's okay daddy, I promise."

But it's not okay.

"Can you please leave us alone, daddy?"

It's never okay anymore. Not with Kurt. No. Now never.

But because it's Burt, and because it's Kurt, and because he's too terrified to do anything but retreat to the sanctity of his favourite beer (but never more than three) he decides to do just that.

"Okay, but not too long, okay?"

"okay, daddy."

"Blaine?"

But Burt is met with only the whirring of the wind and the flapping of wings. He's met with nothing but silence, as he always is when Kurt says that he's with Blaine, and only his five year old eyes can see.


End file.
